What Happened To Us
by ThePointGirl
Summary: Eames shows up at Cobb's house, wanting answers because he's not happy about something he's been told. Post Inception. M for the mods.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: What Happened To Us**

**Author: **ThePointGirl

**Warnings: **SLASH

**Disclaimer: **Don't own 'em, but I wish I did *evil laugh*

**Summary: **Eames shows up at Cobb's house, wanting answers because he's not happy about something he heard

**Notes: **A friend and I created a prompt of a jealous!Eames and decided to have a ficoff :) Her fiction is called Working It Out, and her name is FreekyDisaster18 :D

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><p>Eames wasn't entirely sure what kicked off his mood in the first place. And buy that he meant the <em>real<em>first place. As he stood outside the door of the Cobb family home ringing the doorbell, annoyance bubbled beneath his fingertips. The door opened just as rain began to splatter down. The sky was creeping about in swirls. _Oh __how __effective__…_ Eames thought darkly. _If __this __were __a __movie__…_

'Eames, are you okay? It's four am' Cobb asked from the doorway. Going home to his kids certainly made Cobb a new man he looked healthier and calmer, and without the scruff of a five o'clock shadow. Not looking over his shoulder so much. The extractor was frowning, apparently his skills at reading people stopped at Eames.

'Seen Arthur lately? He asked, levelling his voice without sounding like a psychopath. If anything Cobb's frown, deepened, so that little crease in between his eyes was in need of an iron.

'Yes I have. He's here' Eames' world span on its side. He was feeling a damp patch on the back of his jacket where he wasn't quite standing underneath the porch. 'Come on in' and he moved out of the way to let Eames through. Eames put his travel bag just next to the side table while processing the last minute in his head.

'What's Arthur doing here?' he asked lightly.

'I gave him a spare room. A job got called off in Italy, so he needed somewhere to lay low. I do have another room Eames if that's why you're here'

'That isn't actually why I'm here though I am under the impression that I'm on a black list for Russian art dealer' he stated. During the exchange, they had moved into the vast living room. Eames watched Cobb's posture tense slightly.

'Please, don't tell me you pissed off Kologrivov?' and Eames chuckled.

'Well, he was asking for it. I done him over and legged it'

Cobb sighed, sitting down on the couch. Eames fashioned it was similar to the sigh he gave when James had been naughty at school.

'How much?'

'Seven hundred and fifty'

'Seven fifty. Shit – you did a forgery of a painting for seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the world renowned Kologrivov the Russian Art Dealer?'

'Cobb, he's been on the sly for years you and I know that' Eames said, getting rather impatience with Cobb's slowness.

'If this gets out that a painting is a forgery. You're in - you said this wasn't the reason you came here?' Cobb said, looking up at him.

'Oh, no. Besides, I don't think I'm on the list just yet. I mean he probably doesn't know. The reason I came here is not so you can become my personal loan shark' Eames felt smug as Cobb's expression darkened considerably. 'No. What I was wondering…'

He didn't want to ask. Did he really want clarification? His stomach was already beginning to twist.

'Is why you slept with Arthur?'

Cobb hadn't been looking directly at him, but he was now. Eames stared at him, but flinched at the sound of movement. It was probably Phillipa out of bed because she can't sleep and wants her daddy.

In fact Eames hoped it was. But it wasn't. It was Arthur.

The point man stopped in his tracks at the sight of Eames, his eyes wide, and then glowered at the pair of them.

'What's going on?' and Eames wasn't sure whether Arthur had heard or not. Arthur looked like he was comfortable in his surroundings. Wearing baggy grey sweat pants and an old varsity tee shirt, he leant on the back of the couch with the palm of his hands. He had come to realise that Cobb had always tried to put distance between Arthur and him. Even in the Fischer-Morrow job, Cobb was mostly darting from one to the other.

'How did you find out?' Cobb asked.

'I have ears in many areas of the western world' he replied hotly 'I didn't want it to be something that could make either of you vulnerable'

Yup, lying straight through his teeth in his English drawl. He wondered which one would notice first.

'Liar' clearly Arthur had heard Eames' blatant statement. 'Do you really think that clients or mark's haven't used that tactic before?' his tone was somewhat patronising. But it was laced with something else, a defiance fought behind his eyes. Arthur looked away from Eames. He saw the closeness of Arthur's hand on the couch to Cobb's shoulder. Cobb laughed, not taking his eyes away from Eames.

'Just to clarify-'

'It was years ago' Arthur finished and Eames looked between the two men. They were hot headed, competitive, argumentative and sometimes stupid. But that was what made them the Bonnie and Clyde team which the extraction world knew. The trouble with forgers is that they are in comparison to freelance journalists. When they are wanted they appear. But Eames had seen Cobb and Arthur at their worst. He'd tried to stop Cobb crying that night that Mal jumped. He came across Arthur standing on a hotel roof, tears dripping as he threw a cigarette into the wind.

He didn't really want to ask how many years was 'years ago', however Arthur seemed to read his mind.

'Do you remember the job in Santa Monica that blew over because we were too eager?'

Blimey. That was a while back. But of course he remembered it; he had only met Arthur a few months prior to the job.

'Then?' he deadpanned, not liking where this was heading.

'No. Before that' and Eames frowned.

That meant it really was years ago. _Christ._

'How old were you?' looking between the two. Cobb had an arm slung along the top of the couch and it pulled up the red sweatshirt he had on, exposing a flash of toned tanned skin.

'I must have been twenty –three and Arthur twenty' he said and Eames' insides ached. He could see the pair of them in flashbacks on a screen reel behind his eyes as he closed them for mere seconds.

'So you were in university?' he asked, and mentally kicked himself for not being able to look Cobb in the face.

'Yes' Cobb said. He sounded tired, tired of being awake at four forty-five in the morning, and tired of the conversation. 'Are you staying?' and his blue eyes cleared with emotion.

'If you'll have me. Looks too crowded'

'I'll set up the room' Arthur said and shot Eames a look before leaning off the couch with a huff. Arthur left and Eames could just about hear him padding the stairs. Cobb put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to a standing position.

'Eames'

'Dom'

The awkward silence dominated.

'I know what you're thinking-' Cobb started.

'Don't start extraction shit on me. And for the record you _don't know'_

'He's the most loyal person in the world. More than I am but couldn't you –'

'It never needed to come up. You were always halfway around the world'

'I came back. I came back for you on that night when Mal jumped. I almost bloody stopped Arthur doing it too'

'I'm sorry' Cobb said looking to the floor and then up again.

'Really. What are you sorry for?' he demanded. Cobb swallowed, and Eames hated that his eyes followed his Adams apple.

'I'm a terrible and fucking useless friend. I _know_ that' he said, shaking his head, making the blond bangs slip forward.

'You weren't at school' Eames replied, softer. He needed sleep, and that room was probably set up now. Arthur most likely offered so as to get out of the conversation. Still. Cobb chuckled once, then twice. The chuckle died and Cobb's eyes shuttered like a Venetian blind; the slits of light were the creases of guilt.

'I'm going to go up. Thanks for letting me stay' he said and Cobb nodded. Eames leant forward and brushed his lips against Cobb's. He hovered, the heat from back at school tingling. When he felt Cobb kiss back – the slight pressure of his lips, and the tentative touch of tongue – he broke away. He didn't look at the man, and picked up his bag and walked up to the second floor. He touched the door of the spare room – the one he assumed was his. The door pulled back and Arthur stood the other side.

'Thanks Arthur' he said and he meant it. How could he not? Just looking at Arthur made him want to claim him. Arthur nodded, offering a small smile.

'No problem Eames' Arthur brushed passed him, tapping his hand gently in a simple but caring way.

Eames went into the medium sized spare bedroom and stripped down to his boxers. Lying in the bed he could hear the click of the alarm clock. Groaning he shut his eyes. What had he got himself into… or between. He wasn't even sure anymore.

The morning didn't fair any better. Eames woke to the sound of James running about making sure everyone was up. Eames could have sworn there was a thump as he dragged his dad out of bed. Eames got up slowly. Not really wanting to move, or go downstairs. But he washed and dressed and slipped down the stairs.

You know when you are in a dream, and you know it's a dream because there is something fuzzy and fantasy like about it. That was the feeling Eames got as he stood at the doorway to the kitchen. James was eating about three slices of toast and alternating between what appeared to be three different flavours. Phillipa was reading a book with a bowl of cereal in front of her, and the spoon stopping halfway to her mouth. Cobb had a cup of coffee in his hands, and was looking at it as if it had morphed into life support in a cup. Finally Arthur was telling James to slow down in his eating, whilst eating his own slice of toast.

Oddly it was Phillipa who noticed Eames first off. She looked up and smiled, eyes twinkling. Eyes like her father's.

'Uncle Eames! Daddy, you didn't tell me Uncle Eames was here!' she exclaimed, her book ignored for the minute.

'He arrived when you were asleep sweetheart'

Arthur had grabbed Eames' attention and asked 'Do you want some breakfast? Coffee milk and one sugar?' and he smiled weakly with a nod.

'Well Phil, the last time you woke up when Uncle Eames was here, you said you didn't want to be woken up' Cobb reasoned, it was clear Eames had somewhat zoned out of this conversation.

'Dad that was ages ago!' Phillipa pushed out the chair next to her and patted it. Eames couldn't help but smile. She was like Mal, always eager and wanting to please.

He sat down and Arthur leaned over with the cup of coffee. James and Cobb were having a conversation about his history homework, and Arthur's eyes softened. Eames hadn't realised he had focused on Cobb until he looked back at Arthur. Arthur's short nails scraped the table as his hand let go of the cup. Even though it was a tiny sound, Eames' ears picked it up. He watched as Arthur turned back around; his navy checked shirt hanging a bit loose on him with gaps at the lower back. Eames sipped at the coffee, the bitter taste alerting his senses.

'Right guys, we gotta leave. Phil are you going to the South Gate today? Performing Arts entrance?' Cobb asked and Phillipa nodded hopping up from her seat. She marked her page, and put her bowl in the sink. She gave Eames a half hug, and he ruffled her hair.

'See you later Uncle Eames!' and she was gone from the room. James was not as sprightly in his movements and needed nudging by Cobb.

'I'm goin'! Bye Uncle Eames' and Cobb shook his head.

'That boy… I'm going to run some stuff after I drop them off' Cobb said and he caught Eames' eye.

'Pick me up a paper would you?' he asked and Cobb looked like he was knocked a bit sideways. His expression was readjusted and he nodded.

'Sure. Arthur?'

'I'm fine. Just don't get lost'

Cobb was turning in a neat circle when he turned round to look at Arthur, an eyebrow raised.

'One time. And that was in Moldova'

'The shop was only five minutes away from-'

'Goodbye Arthur' and he left. The sound of Phillipa and James' chatter soon died down as the click of the door silenced everything.

Arthur plonked (that was the only way to describe his unusual lack of gracefulness) himself down on the chair opposite Eames, leaning on his elbows and rubbing his face with two hands.

'What happened last night?'

Arthur was not stupid. For all their banter and mini little fights was just another way to wind Cobb up. Eames thought it was a subconscious stab at attention. Certainly their whole thing with Fischer and the first level down was more for Cobb's benefit. Eames knew he saw the whole 'you mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling' act. Well part of it wasn't, but some of it was. At the precise moment he could not remember where each piece fitted on the line of memory and emotion, but it made sense back then. Arthur was looking at him expectantly. He has – as Eames had found out earlier in their partnership – the best bitch face on a man. Cobb can be intimidating and rather scary like a raged tiger, whereas Arthur's the leopard who waits until it gets really pissed off and all hell breaks loose.

'Nothing' he lied. Lying wasn't as natural as you would think to Eames, considering he was a forger and a con man. Well… morally speaking anyways.

'You see, I don't know why, but you have this wonderful need to lie to me' Arthur replied leaning back in his chair, slumped a little. Light from the window caught his hair and neck.

'I'm not lying'

'Then why do I think you are?'

'Because you're over dramatising it'

'No, because I'm perceptive' Arthur tapped the chair with his hand 'God you're frustrating' he huffed out.

'At least I evoke some emotion, darling' Eames replied, the smile on his lips helping his mood.

'I just want to know' Arthur looked, for once, pathetic. Eames kept quiet, downing his coffee and making the cup clunk down on the table. 'Okay. How did you find out?'

'I don't actually remember' he replied honestly. Arthur frowned.

'How do you mean?'

'Someone said it to me. At least I think they heavily implied it… another point man I think'

Arthur groaned with a roll of his eyes.

'This person wouldn't be called Anderson would he?' crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head to one side.

'Maybe. I – why?' and Arthur flushed pink for a moment.

'Let's just say, I know him' Arthur replied.

'How?'

'I do have a social life Eames. As much as that may shock you'

'You fucked him over didn't you?' Eames asked, he could feel his eyes glinting.

'I left him if that's what you mean' Arthur got up and began clearing away the components from breakfast. Eames pushed the cup towards Arthur who picked it up.

'Ah… that gives reason to his sombre, if not angry, attitude' Eames stacked the plates. 'Do you want a hand?'

'No. It's fine. You sure you don't want anything?' Arthur asked without turning to face him. Eames shook his head.

'Nope. I'm fine, doll. You know I hardly eat food' and he thought Arthur shake his head, but he might just be imagining it. He tapped the pockets of his jeans.

'Cobb said you gave up smoking' and Eames' hand halted in its tapping over the pack of Bensons in his pocket.

'Did he now?' he breathed and got up, out of the chair.

'Yeah. So go now if you want to have one before he gets back'

Eames nodded and walked out of the kitchen. He opened the door and slipped out to the right of the house. Leaning against the clean, cool, brick he closed his eyes. Taking out his lighter and Bensons he removed one from the packet with his teeth and put the packet back in his jeans. He lit the cigarette after about three spits of the lighter, and held it out in front of him. Taking in a puff felt like heaven, and he blew out.

He was lucky as this carried on for about five more puffs, until the crunch of gravel and footsteps. Remembering he was not at the end of his garden at thirteen, and the person coming around the corner would not be him mum, he didn't really react.

'Want some?' he asked, without looking and offering the cigarette.

'I thought you quit'

'Wow, you and Arthur are sounding _very_ familiar nowadays'

'What are you trying to do to me Eames? I don't understand you'

'That's because I'm not Mal or Arthur' and he expected a punch. He didn't expect to be slammed against the wall. Mental flashback to Fischer on the first level down, Cobb pushed him against the van. Now, Cobb had his hands tight around his shirt. If he gave enough force he could throw the man off_.__Why __not __let __him __rumble __a __bit, __eh?_

'Why did you say that?' he growled and Eames had to blink slowly. _Easy__tiger__…_ Eames gripped the cigarette for its life was dying.

'Because you had Mal. Jesus Christ – you had the most beautiful woman in the whole of Paris. But you also had Arthur' and he stopped. He could sense Cobb weakening a little. His shoulders easing.

'And I had you too, you fucking moron!' _oh __no __maybe __not _as Cobb bit back, blue eyes glaring at him. 'I was fine at school, and then you show up like the rainbow parade. All chaos and -'Cobb stopped because Eames started to shake with laughter.

'Rainbow parade? I've been called many things – but rainbow parade?' he asked still giggling. Cobb grunted.

'I panicked, okay? That's not the point'

Cobb was still holding on to him, so Eames nudged him. Thankfully the guy got the hint, and Eames straightened out his shirt. Cobb slumped against the wall next to him.

'Kids dropped off fine?'

'Yeah. I narrowly escaped being cornered by James' art teacher'

'See, there's Dominic Cobb's weakness. Oh, he can now perform inception with his eyes closed and walking backwards, but give him a grade school art teacher and – where'd he go?' Eames said, taking a drag from the now minute cigarette butt, scowling at it.

'I remember being in Mrs Copperly's Art History class…'

'Was that the time you fell off the stool and brought the easel with it?' Eames asked. Cobb stared at him, trying to keep face, but then broke into a grin and nodded.

'In my defence, I was trying to get a better angle'

'Well you did. The floor'

Silence caught them once again and Cobb ran a hand through his hair.

'What happened to us, Eames?'

'We grew up. Went our separate ways' he sighed.

'It was fun. All the road trips. You singing Bon Jovi very out of tune an-'

'Hey, you can't sing any better than I can' Eames cut across.

'And the time we refused to go home and sat on the cliff for hours' Cobb said. He did actually sound like he missed it. Eames' had to say it.

'I'm sorry for going off at you after Fischer Morrow' he said and could feel the man looking at him.

'Eames, if I didn't say it to you I said it to everyone else. It should be _me_ apologising. And I am sorry, I just couldn't deal with-'

'I know' Eames cut him short. He didn't want to hear the reasons again. He didn't want to be reminded of the images that he still kept in his head, of the man who came to his door bawling his eyes out. The man who when he was at Eames' apartment nearly took an overdose of god knows what to help. Which it, of course, did nothing of the sort.

No, Eames did not want those images. He wanted to be reminded of the teenage boy he once knew. The one who told him he talked funny, he said 'I talk funny? You should here you from this end of the line'. At which point they grinned at each other and shook hands, introducing themselves.

The one who used up the months phone bill because he wouldn't shut up about – well – anything and everything. The one who told him to 'dream bigger' and he added the 'darling.

The one who he ran with through the fields behind the school, and skipped a few meagre tests with. The only one he let put their head in his lap when they sat in the park. The skinny, floppy blond haired boy who constantly argued with him in philosophy and politics class: that was the Dominic Cobb he knew. And loved.

They watched each other grow up and out of the roles they once knew.

'Arthur's going to wonder where we've gone' Eames commented and he saw Cobb's blue eyes widen. Very like the time he realised he was in completely the wrong place for his lesson, and proceeded to run across the campus. Silly git, head in the clouds.

'Let's go in inside' and they pushed their weight off the wall. Eames walked round the house, slipping the burnt out butt end in the bin. He eyed the car in the drive. It was Cobb's BMW. He hadn't seen the car's make because it was blacked out when he arrived. Blacked out and quiet like a suburban village.

'Can I…'

'If you end that sentence with 'drive your car' I'll say no' Cobb answered without turning to look at him, and putting his key in the lock. Cobb looked over his shoulder with a smirk on his face.

'Do I trust you with my kids? Yes. Do I trust you with my life? Yes. Do I trust you with my car? Not a chance'

Eames chuckled.

'I suppose me wrecking your bike in sixth grade has nothing to do with it?'

'Not at all' Cobb said in monotone. Opening the door they went inside and could hear a program being broadcast on the kitchen TV.

'_The __painting __at __The __Brooklyn __Museum __of __Art __has __been __named __a __forgery.__The __painting __Of __the __Lady __in __Black __was __recognised __today __to__…'_

Eames froze and Cobb turned to look at him. They both went into the kitchen and found Arthur sitting at the table watching the news report with interest.

There was a picture being shown on the TV screen of the painting, with the irritating news reporter babbling on voice over. Eames went quiet, and heard rushing in his ears.

'Eames, is that the painting?' Cobb asked standing next to him, shoulders touching. Eames nodded. He didn't think opening his mouth would do anything useful.

'What's going on?' Arthur asked, and he was looking between the two with half frown for concern, and half 'what the hell have you two done?'

'Arthur, you know Kologrivov?' Cobb asked just as the man appeared on press release coverage. Arthur nodded.

'We're going to pay him a visit' Cobb said simply and glanced at Eames, a small rather evil smile on his face.

Back was the boy, man, extractor that Daniel Eames once knew…

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><p><em>Please don't hurt me.. I can back cookies :) Reviews would be very helpful. Thank you.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

The little problem – Eames used the word _little_ because he wasn't scared of him, well not really – with Kologrivov, simmered down after two bullets were placed in the kneecaps of his most loyal henchman. Cobb managed to keep the peace, and coming from a man holding a CZ 50 in one hand and a Walther PS handgun in the other, this was quite remarkable. The spat wasn't over, Kologrivov had warned, but he was certain he wasn't going to let _'Mr Cobb out_ _me as a criminal'_. Eames had insisted he was not a damsel in distress that needed this sort of heroic help, but Cobb just smirked at him and said: _'You're not a damsel, no'_. Eames scowled at him. _'You're funny. Can we carry on now?'_ Arthur had been sat four hundred metres away with a sniper rifle aimed at the window of the mansion. He had an earpiece, and was listening to everything, recording it. When Kologrivov threatened either one of them, a shot swished through the glass, smashing a vase on the other side of the room. Oh, and one of Kologrivov's men was still missing but Arthur claimed he had nothing to do with it.

That was roughly three weeks ago, and Eames knew he was reaching the beginning of a mid life crisis. Because frankly any men who like playing James Bond on a regular basis; ought to have more sense.

Cobb had been to London when he was fifteen, with Eames on a two-week holiday. He had never been back, and Eames was on a mission to change that. So he met Cobb at the airport (the kids were either on a trip or staying at grandparents, and Arthur had left town for a job), handing him a ticket to gate one.

'Flight sixteen hundred to Gatwick Airport, England?' He was beginning to think Cobb was slowing down in his age – not that Eames would ever say that aloud – because the extractor did not question it when Eames told him that he had booked at a flight for a week or two away.

'That's what it says on the ticket, yes'

'I haven't been to England-'

'Since you were fifteen, yes I remember. I doubt it missed you, don't worry'

Cobb smiled, and rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers.

'What's the time? I need a coffee'

'It's three thirty, so we got a bit of time'

Cobb walked off to get himself a cup of coffee at the Starbucks stand, leaving Eames sitting on the hard, utilitarian seats. He took out his blackberry and scrolled through the contacts. The phone vibrated and the clicked out, selecting the new bbm message. Huh. It was from his sister.

_Hey, which part of the world are you? We need to catch up._

His sister, Charlotte, was a single mum working as a public relations executive for a branch of clothing. No one would ever think either one was related. They looked nothing alike, nor did they act it. It didn't stop them being close, and nobody at school ever made the connection. This was due to the fact that Charlotte was two years younger and their friends never mixed. She met Cobb, and Eames had a burden of proof that she formed a crush on him at one point. Then again she was only thirteen when they met, and he was fifteen.

He replied with _I'm flying into London today. So if you want to catch up I'll be around :-)_

Eames looked up and Cobb was walking back towards him. Things were still a bit weird between them. If they weren't, Eames wouldn't understand it. To be honest he didn't know what he wanted out of this relationship. God almighty… he couldn't even call it _that_. Whatever it was, Eames was just content with the idea that something was settled. And that little place in his – dare he say it – heart was clicked shut and secured with a feeling.

'Here you go' and he was handed a polystyrene cup of something. He looked up, and Cobb sat on the seat next to him, nudging the black travel bag with his foot.

'It's a double caramel latte' Cobb said before Eames could ask.

'Without cream?' he asked.

'Yes. I never figured out why you say no to cream, as if _that_ won't hurt you in the long run anyway'

'It's a matter of principle. It's too sweet otherwise. Don't tell me that's a black coffee, with one sugar?' Eames asked, eyeing the white cup in distaste. The other man nodded. Eames made a face.

'Arthur and you can live on that stuff'

'That's what I did before my final, so why should I stop now?'

Eames' blackberry, which was balanced on his lap, vibrated. He looked at it, and then read the text to make that red flashing go away.

_Good :-) Text me when you have a moment, okay? _

And he clicked out of it. Cobb was reading over his shoulder, and to anyone else he would have told them to bugger off, but he was used to it. Besides, it wasn't as if it was anything really private.

'How is Charlotte?' he asked and Eames huffed, putting his phone in his jacket.

'She's fine. We might drop in and see her. She's got a little boy'

'Is she being supported?' Cobb asked.

To anyone else that question would have made no sense. But Charlotte had had a pregnancy scare at the age of seventeen and her boyfriend went silent. Cobb was there when she 'found out' and sat with Eames while she screamed down the phone line to the so called boyfriend.

'She's a single mum' Eames replied. He didn't let anyone else know, but when he did huge jobs (for instance the inception of Robert Fischer) he sent the money through an unmarked account to Charlotte. They never mention it, but it makes Eames smile when he gets a text with a picture of his nephew. Cobb didn't say anything, which meant he was probably outlining ways to track down whoever did this to Charlotte Eames.

_The sixteen hundred flight to London, England, Gatwick Airport is now ready to board if you would please make your way…_

Seven hours later, they touched down in London, Gatwick. Cobb had been troubled by a wine glass that appeared to move of its own accord across the table. Each time he fiddled with it, it slid again. Cobb just frowned at the glass, downing it so the stewardess would take it away.

'Remember it's a lift not an elevator and…'

'If you say one more thing like that I'll hit you'

The threat was added to by a Dominic Cobb _shut-up-for-your-own-good _look. Eames smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. Cobb smiled back, and Eames could see in his shoulders that he needed a proper sleep. So did Eames, the leather upholstered seats though comfortable, but meant your legs refused to work after the flight.

They stepped out into moderately sunny and considerably warmer London that Eames expected. Staying in too many steamy continents where the haze is heat, not fog, made Eames forget about the place he used to know. He would be lying if he said he didn't miss it.

Sorting out the car issue he been more interesting the he originally thought it would be. Cobb got partially distracted by a new series BMW, and Eames stupidly gave in. They set off out of Gatwick and the mass of holiday makers struggling with suitcases. Cobb put James on loudspeaker as he was asking where his Batman pyjamas were. To which Eames gave Cobb a questioning look and the man looked like he was close to laughing despite his son sounding rather petulant.

Pulling into the drive way after about an hour and a half of driving, Eames slumped in the seat and looked at the house before him. He let his hands slip from the wheel and onto his lap. The house stared back at him, irresolute and charming as always. Not a scratch or peel of paint anywhere. It was surreal.

'Eames, are you going to sit here?' it wasn't a question; really, Cobb just phrases imperatives like that. The imperative was _get out of the car._ So he did, slipping the car door shut. Eyes trained over the panelling of the white wood exterior.

'Do you remember it like this?' he asked, hating how his voice sounded so small.

'Yeah' since when did Cobb move to stand next to him? 'Are you going to go in?' and Eames walked briskly up to the door and unlocked it, letting it swing open. He stepped inside.

It was how he remembered it. Though minus the people that constantly were bustling in and out. Eames wasn't someone who talked all the time, and if he did he was either explaining something or trying to annoy someone, so he got lost in looking at the details of the house.

'Eames…' and he looked to Cobb who was standing on the first step of the stairs, one hand on the bannister. 'Let's go to your room' and Eames smirked.

'Well now, that's a bit forward' and Cobb rolled his eyes. Cobb apparently still remembered where his old room was because he naturally turned right at the top of the landing.

'You know, I still walk into the laundry cupboard instead of the bathroom at your house, and yet you know exactly where my old room is' and Cobb pushed at the pale blue painted door, unfolding Eames' room in a sweep. Like a camera angle.

His room was like any other teenager's room. It was a fair size, with a rickety desk that wobbled, and posters on the walls. Cobb circled the room, stopping when he did a three sixty and waited for Eames. Eames never knew why no one had bought the house, or more to the point why his parents never sold it. It just stood, idly there for somebody to come back and claim it as home. Eames sighed, and flicked through the pages of a book that he was pretty sure wasn't his, and picked it up in both hands.

'Think fast' he said, chucking the book at Cobb who caught it. He looked at it, frowning and then grinning.

'I wondered where it went. I spent weeks trying to find it for my essay and you had it all along'

'To be honest, I never noticed' and he huffed, 'I don't know about you, but I'm in need of a pint' and Cobb looked at him curiously.

'You sure you don't want to spend more time here?'

'I wish I did. It's a house… The people who made it home aren't here. I'm not an architect I don't really form attachments to buildings'

They drove into central London, near Soho and Eames spotted a place which he hadn't been in since he was about seventeen. Pulling the car over, and finding a parking space – something very difficult to do in London - and Cobb laughed at him when he swore bloody murder at a guy who nipped in a space before him.

'Honestly, it's like a game of PAC man' he grumbled, but they went into the archaic looking, slightly smokey (Smoking laws?) bar, which was battered with noise. It smelled the same, looked the same and probably the alcohol was the same too. Eames and Cobb took seats at the bar and he watched Cobb map out the place with his eyes. 'Stop working'

'I'm not, merely admiring someone else's' and Eames looked along the bar to the bartenders, perhaps seeing anyone familiar?...

'You all right fellas? What can I do for you?' the voice asked, Eames looked up at the face that stood in front of him. 'Bloody hell! It's Danny Eames'

'Katie' he murmured, 'Hello dolly, how are you?' Katie was a friend of Charlotte, and they had been quite close at one stage. She was dressed in purple checked shirt and skinny jeans, and from what Eames could calculate from when he last saw her, four inch heels too.

'I'm fine, fine. You're still as handsome as ever' she grinned and then her eyes flicked to Cobb who offered her a smile. 'No, can't be, Dominic Cobb?' she asked absently wiping the counter.

'Hello, again Katie'

'Gosh, did you graduate. Art and Design was it?'

'Architecture' he corrected her and she nodded.

'Wow, my word, it's been years. You look great-'

'Boss, what did you say about chatting up the customers?' yelled one of the bar girls.

'Oi! You can shut your trap. I'm being friendly, get on with your work' she said with a playful smile. She rolled her eyes. 'They know love them'

'Boss?' Eames asked and Katie grinned with all her straight teeth.

'Yup, I own the place now. Charlotte still works here on occasion. Have you seen her lately?'

'No. Why?'

'Oh just wondering, she sometimes mentions you'

The sound of a snooker match that was being played behind them and elevated into raised voices. 'Hey! If you don't shut up, I'll make sure you start singing soprano!' Katie shouted over their shoulders and then turned back, 'I'm sorry, do you guys actually want anything to drink or are you just enjoying the lovely ambience?' Eames chuckled.

'I don't know about him but I'll have a pint of San Miguel' and Cobb repeated his order.

'Nice choice' and she fixed their drinks.

'It's your birthday in a few weeks' Cobb mused and Eames frowned.

'Oh god, I'm going to be thirty eight, oh joy'

'You're only as old as you feel. So you're what, fifty odd?' and Eames thinned his lips at the man.

'You are a funny man. Say's you; you turned thirty seven not that long ago!'

'But I'm not as shallow as you Eames'

'Oh piss off' he mumbled.

Back at the hotel - which only had a twin left when Eames booked – he took off his watch to get into the shower.

'Eames, what happened to the watch I gave you?' and Eames could barely hear him past the rushing water of the sink. He turned it off.

'It's in a pawn shop in Camden Town' he lied, waiting for the response. He didn't get one. 'It's in my luggage' he called out and got into the shower. The watch was Cartier, and Cobb had bought it for him on his eighteenth. He still had it, out of stupid sentiment he guessed. One drunken mistake he almost sold it, but didn't. His brain kicked into gear in time. On the back of it were engraved the words 'Dream bigger'. And when he opened the present with his family he had turned the watch over in his hand and smiled. No one noticed.

He was out of the shower and dressed in slacks and a dark blue shirt, Cobb was on his bed, his feet crossed at the ankles, and in a button down shirt and dark chinos.

'Do you want me tell Phillipa it's your birthday soon?' Cobb asked and Eames shook his head vigorously.

'No. Arthur is one thing, but I'm not walking around with a pink paper hat on my head. As much as I care about Phillipa, no'

'Who said anything about a pink paper hat?' and Eames scrunched up the notepad paper and threw it at him. It bounced off his shoulder. 'Do you still wear it?'

'The hat? No I think I lost it…' and Cobb huffed, scowling at him.

'The watch, Eames' and Eames knew what he meant, he wasn't stupid.

'Yes I do. Sometimes. You know, it's more of a totem than anything'

Nothing more was said about it, they went to dinner at the hotel bar and mocked the bad singing night which was going on next door.

The next day Cobb met him in the coffee shop across from the hotel. He wore a Rolling Stones t-shirt. Not just any Rolling Stones t-shirt, but the one Eames' had got for him for his birthday.

'You're lucky – how does that even fit you?' he asked, and thanked the waiter for his mocha. The shirt was nicely fitted on him, which was very odd because it was bought years ago. But it hugged at his hips where his jeans were, and over his upper arms.

'It was baggy at the time' and that would be why, Eames's reasoned in his head. All band t-shirts came one size or two up from what you wanted.

In this case it was a rather good thing.


End file.
